Or Maybe He's Like A Figment Of My Imagination And...
First I wonder what’s the way he fucks you. Probably rough and rugged, like I never did, because that kind of sex is overrated and reminds me of porn where the women fake it and nobody seems to really care. Then I think of what kind of guy he is: blonde, or tall, or lanky, or brawn. I wonder if he’s the type to take you out to bars to watch ‘the game’? Maybe he’s...
Lazy Poetry Is Lazy IX
She said “Of all the idiots in the world, it just had to be you.” Which would be an insult if it weren’t for the softness in her kiss.
And Show Me How You Do That Thing With Your Tongue...
Teach me, love, how to hold your fears when arms and bodies are not enough. How my hands should run down your back to dip and curve and swoon and taste every nook of your kiss and each corner of your lips while I’m basting in your flesh to the edges of your skin, where the sum of your body and some of the world ends. Teach me, love, where my eyes should stare to wonder when you wander there,...
You Didn't Care If My Shirt Was Namebrand Either
I remember you like mosquito bites, or gashes from that time I fell going down Sutton’s Hill, and you asked if I was ok, laughing so hard you cried. I wasn’t. But your smile made me feel like I was. The way we use to shrug at pain I forgot.
We Had A Relationship Based On Orgasms And...
She comes to me at night like dreams, but not with wings or clouds and fantasy; she comes with feet, pulpy lips, a tired head, frizzy hair, cold bones for me to kiss. Faint heart, feint heart. Faint, heart - come rest your bones with me. No words, no words, just a touch to feel your needs.
Those who belong to this small class have tasted how sweet and blessed a...– Plato, The Republic